


Don't Call Me Cariño

by klembek



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Berlermo Secret Santa, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Post-kiss, Pre-Season/Series 01, Still Fluff, and a bit of angst, but no worries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28259778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klembek/pseuds/klembek
Summary: This was ridiculous. It was just a word, it shouldn’t bother him so much.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 15
Kudos: 43





	Don't Call Me Cariño

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nharidy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nharidy/gifts).



Martín cursed under his breath when the sunlight streamed in through the window and touched his face. It was warm and cozy under the duvet, with strong arms wrapped around him and a steady breath tickling his neck. He didn’t want to get up yet, but the light was really getting on his nerves.

‘Draw the curtains,’ he murmured.

‘Why me?’ He shivered at the sound of Andrés’ raspy voice right next to his ear. ‘You’re closer to the window.’

‘I’m your guest,’ Martín said, rolling over to look at Andrés. His eyes were closed, but Martín could see corners of his mouth twitch. ‘You should take care of your guests.’

Andrés smirked. ‘Oh, I think I’ve already taken care of you.’

Martín smiled back at the memory of last night. The feeling of Andrés’ hair between his fingers, the taste of his skin as he kissed his way down to take off his ridiculously expensive underwear, Andrés’ lips and hands all over him.

‘How about I draw the curtains and you make breakfast in half an hour?’ he asked finally.

‘An hour.’

‘Forty minutes.’

‘Deal.’

Martín untangled himself from sheets and shivered when the cold air touched his naked skin. He drew the curtains and turned around to come back to bed, but he stopped, meeting the adoring gaze of two dark eyes. So that was how works of art felt when Andrés looked at them.

‘What?’ Martín asked with a laugh.

Andrés shrugged and smiled, ‘You’re beautiful.’

‘Yeah, no shit,’ he replied and crawled back under the covers.

‘You know nothing about being romantic, do you?’ Andrés growled, placing himself on Martín’s chest like a big lazy cat.

After that night at the monastery Martín hadn’t really expected to see Andrés ever again, let alone hope for anything more than his friendship. But it seemed that he, for the first time, had underestimated Andrés and their bond.

And so they were here now. In Andrés’ apartment. In Madrid. In bed. Naked. Together.

‘Andrés?’ The man lifted his head and looked at him. Martín didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing him like that. ‘You’re beautiful too.’

‘Obviously,’ he said, but Martín could see the smugness in his eyes.

Martín wrapped his arms around him and kissed the top of his head. They lay without saying a word, listening to the sounds of the city. Just when Martín started to nod off again, Andrés got up.

‘Forty minutes. I’m a man of my word,’ Andrés said when Martín mumbled something in protest and tried to keep him in place.

Martín let him go reluctantly. He propped himself on his elbow and watched as Andrés put his trousers on.

‘Can you make the thing for breakfast? You know, the ...’ Martín gestured, not being able to make his brain work without the morning coffee. Andrés smiled.

‘Of course,’ he bent down and kissed him. ‘Whatever you say, cariño.’

Martín felt his stomach flip. He looked at Andrés cautiously, but he just picked Martín’s shirt from the floor and put it on as he walked out of the room.

It didn’t take long before Andrés called him cariño again. They were shopping for dinner when Martín heard:

‘Cariño, they don’t have your favourite beer. Do you want another type or should we go to look for it somewhere else?’

Martín tensed, ‘I don’t want beer. The wine we have at home will be just fine.’

‘Are you sure? I don’t mind ...’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he said and went to the next aisle, not waiting for Andrés.

Tuesday evenings were reserved for watching TV. But the soap opera they usually watched to make fun of the idiocy of screenwriters and poor acting choices today was just a blur, a background noise for what was happening right now.

Martín was lying on the couch with his head on Andrés’ lap. He felt him playing with his hair and the weight of his other hand on his chest. If he had any less self-control, he might start purring.

‘You were acting weird in the shop yesterday,’ Andrés spoke up, turning Martín’s peace into dust. Martín looked up to meet his worried gaze.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, trying to make his voice as casual as he could.

‘You know what I mean, Martín. Don’t play dumb,’ his voice wasn’t angry, not really. ‘I’m worried.’

Martín shifted.

‘I’m done with beer for now. I was drinking a lot when … we were apart.’

That wasn’t a complete lie. Martín remembered the empty bottles on the floor of his flat. He remembered waking up with a headache and a taste of vomit in his mouth, which was still somehow less painful than the fact that he was alone.

He felt Andrés’ lips on his and he was grateful that this was how he decided to get him out of his darkest memories. Andrés leaned back and looked at him with such love it took Martín’s breath away.

‘You don’t have to hide things like that from me,’ he said, stroking his cheek. ‘You don’t have to hide anything from me.’

‘And I don’t want to hide anything from you.’

‘Good,’ Andrés kissed him again. ‘We are a team, cariño. Don’t forget that.’

Martín gave him a quick smile and turned his head towards the TV to hide the worry in his eyes.

Music always made everything better, even doing the dishes. Martín hummed and swung his hips as Juan Carlos Caceres played from the living room. Suddenly, he felt Andrés wrapping his arms around him.

‘Dance with me,’ he whispered in his ear and Martín had never said no to that request and he wasn’t going to change the statistics now.

They walked to the living room. Andrés pulled him close and they started to dance. It must look terrible from the outsider’s perspective, with lots of awkward moves, stepping on each other’s feet and tripping. Martín laughed as Andrés stepped on his toe again just to be spun without warning. Andrés chuckled, when he had to tighten his grip to stop Martín from falling and cracking his head on the corner of the coffee table.

‘You have to be more careful, cariño,’ Andrés said, helping him stand again.

Martín felt his stomach drop. He waited for the end of the song and untangled himself from Andrés’ arms.

‘I have to finish the dishes.’

‘You can do it later.’ Andrés tried to keep him in place, but he let go when he saw Martín frown.

‘I don’t feel too well,’ Martín said. ‘I think I’ll clean up and go to bed.’

He should know better than to think that it would give him some time alone. Andrés, clingy bastard that he was, followed him to bed. When Martín turned his back to him, Andrés hugged him from behind, not letting Martín contemplate his miserableness in peace.

‘Sleep, cariño,’ Andrés said and kissed his cheek. ‘It’ll make you feel better.’

Martín wanted to scream.

Martín gritted his teeth as he heard Andrés laugh. He was talking to Sergio. That little shit Martín used to consider a friend. And now he called Andrés and they had been talking for almost half an hour now.

He heard Andrés saying his goodbyes and coming to the living room. He buried his nose in a book.

‘Cariño, Sergio is coming next week,’ Andrés announced and it was probably the worst sentence Martín could hear today. He pretended to not notice him.

‘Martín?’

‘Sorry, you said something?’ He looked up, giving Andrés his most innocent gaze.

‘Yes,’ Andrés looked at him suspiciously. ‘I said that Sergio is coming next week.’

‘Oh,’ Martín said and returned to his book, hoping Andrés would change the subject.

‘I know you’re mad at him, cariño, but he’s my brother.’ Andrés sat down next to him and rested his chin on Martín’s shoulder. ‘Can you at least not throw him out?’

He sighed. ‘I can try, but I won’t promise anything.’

‘Thank you, cariño.’

And that was simply too much. Hearing this word for the third time in five minutes was too much.

‘Can you, please, just ...’ he hissed, but stopped. This was ridiculous. It was just a word, it shouldn’t bother him so much.

‘What? What is it, ca-’

‘No, stop it!’ Except that it _was_ bothering him and he was done with hiding it. ‘Don’t call me cariño!’

Andrés frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Because you always call them that. Every single one of your women. All your stupid, naive women you always end up leaving when you get bored.’ He took a deep breath, surprised with the words that were about to escape his mouth. ‘It was nice, but I think, for the sake of our friendship, it’s time to stop, if it’s just another game for you.’

It was silent for a moment and Martín would rather Andrés had already left. Waiting for the inevitable always was the worst part.

‘You think I could actually leave you?’ Andrés asked and he sounded genuinely surprised.

‘It’s not like you haven’t given me a reason to think that.’

‘Yes, but I love you.’

‘Just like you loved Ta-’

‘No!’ Andrés cut him off fiercely, almost angrily. ‘You’re nothing like Tatiana. You’re nothing like any of these women.’

Andrés’ face softened. He took Martín’s hand, interlocked their fingers and looked at them for a moment.

‘I don’t know what happens to me when I’m with you. When I say I love you, I don’t mean it. Not really. I know love and this,’ he squeezed Martín’s hand.’ isn’t it. It’s so much better, so much stronger. It’s like seeing the world for the first time.’ He cupped Martín's face and looked him in the eyes. ‘You are the only one who I consider equal to me. And I wouldn’t dare to offend your intelligence, trying to play you. I am here to stay, Martín. Let me show that. Trust me. Do you trust me?’

Martín knew he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But he did. He trusted Andrés with his life. Always had, always would.

‘Of course I trust you.’

Andrés smiled fondly and kissed him.

‘Now, what would you like to be called?’ he asked once he broke the kiss. ‘I can’t just say ‘Martín’ all the time I want to catch your attention. I suggest pumpkin.’

Martín chuckled. ‘God, no.’

‘Alright. Cupcake then.’

‘Just shut up.’

‘Or teapot. Ooooh, how about sweet potato? My sweet, sweet potato.’

‘I hate you,’ he said, trying to look serious.

‘No you don’t.’

No, he didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> You have no idea how many people were involved in writing this fic. It had been on my computer for a month, ageing like a good wine. But it was worth it since it's a gift for one of the most amazing people I know. She helps me with writing and dealing with stupidity of my irls. Te quiero mucho, tovarisch!
> 
> As always, many thanks to my wonderful beta, [ givebackmylifecas ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas)
> 
> I love talking to fandom people. Message me on [ Tumblr ](https://oreo-cookies-fan.tumblr.com/)


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